


I Couldn't Help It, It Had To Be You

by moonflowers



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Confused Steve Harrington, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, Handyman Billy, Hawkins Moms, He Does Gardens, Humor, M/M, POV Steve, Running, Which is apparently a pre-existing tag, mentions of abuse, they know what's up, tiny shorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-16 02:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19309195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonflowers/pseuds/moonflowers
Summary: Determined to overcome a summer of boredom and too much ice cream, Steve joins the Hawkins running group. Unfortunately, it turns out the secondary purpose of said group is for the ladies of Hawkins to gush about the effect Billy Hargrove is having on their rosebushes. But maybe if Steve wasn’t so busy being offended by Hargrove’s mere existence, he’d realise he’s completely missing the point.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soo that second trailer dropped and I was like FUCK I need to get this posted before s3 or I’ll never do it.  
> This started as nothing more than wanting to write Steve with his long old legs out and little running socks pulled up all high. It grew. Also I'm not sure how I feel about it but it's too damn late now.  
> Title is from the ABBA song Why Did It Have To Be Me, because I watched Mamma Mia 2 with my mum the other day and couldn’t think of anything better.

Steve had never been much of an early bird, but that didn’t mean he hated mornings. Ones like this, he could appreciate. The sun was out, but it was early enough to still be cool, bright rather than sticky, mist sitting in the hollows at the edges of the road. The smell of earth and pines and warming asphalt, bacon fat drifting through someone’s open window as they listened to a morning radio show. He’d stayed in bed until the last possible minute so hadn’t had time for breakfast, and his stomach rumbled appreciatively at the smell. He took a deep breath and pushed on, grit crunching under his running shoes. 

“That’s it Simon, push on through!” Melvin slapped him on the shoulder and gave him a toothy grin as he jogged past.

“Yeah,” Steve panted, although the old man had already taken his usual place at the front of the pack and couldn’t hear him. He never got Steve’s name right. “Sure.”

Steve had a whole bunch of reasons for joining the Hawkins running group, each more straight up depressing then the last. Unexpectedly, he missed gym class now school was out; missed the sweat, the ache after a good game. But with no coach yelling or blowing a whistle at him, it was easy to put off exercise in favour of doing absolutely nothing. The shifts at Scoops were long and frustrating, and he found himself dipping into the ice cream more than once on quiet afternoons. He was even weaker for dipping into the toppings. Fuckin’ M&Ms, man. Then there was the lurking, ever-present ‘what if it comes back’ that he spent every day trying his hardest to ignore. And the boredom. Yeah, it was mostly the boredom. And since there was no way he was motivated enough to stay in the habit of running all by himself… the group it was.  
There were a few other kids around his age; three or four girls he’d graduated with who were okay to talk to, and a girl he recognised as a couple years his senior who dragged her boyfriend along. There was Melvin, a super enthusiastic old guy who Steve swore was like a hundred, but could run circles around them all. Other than that it was mostly the moms, who Steve figured were there for the same reasons he was – too much ice cream and too much time to eat it. To escape for an hour. 

Or at least that’s what he’d thought, until he realised the group was just another way for them to catch up on gossip. Don’t get him wrong, they all took it seriously enough and were unexpectedly fit – he swore they could keep up the chatter without looking the tiniest bit out of breath for the whole forty five minute run. Mostly he just zoned out and let them get on with it. Sometimes they talked about their kids – Mrs Wheeler and Mrs Sinclair were especially guilty of that one – which apart from being good blackmail material, was kinda boring. Sometimes they talked about work or their husbands or some new diet they were trying, again mostly boring. Sometimes they talked about movies, which Steve joined in with, or haircare, which Mrs Faircastle had actively asked his opinion on, after telling him his was so lovely. They were cool he guessed, in their way. That was, until they got started on their favourite subject.

“My lawn is looking just wonderful,” Mrs Sinclair was beaming, as put together as ever, as they rounded onto the main drag of Hawkins high street, “I can’t thank you enough for recommending that nice young man.”

“No trouble at all,” Mrs Wheeler smiled, “we’re very lucky to have him. Lord knows Ted’s terrible at yard work.”

“And it’s so kind of him to fit all those chores in between his shifts at the pool, too,” Mrs Sinclair continued, “such a hard worker.”

“And so well mannered!” Ms Kramer from the pet store chimed in, “and so good with the cats. I hardly wanted him to leave.”

After that, they moved on to how adorable his dimples were, and Steve let himself drift back to run closer to Becky and April. The last fucking thing he wanted to hear about was Billy Hargrove’s dimples. 

#

It was towards the end of their morning run on a too-hot Saturday when it happened. Hargrove was outside the hardware store, bending over the trunk of his car in too-tight jeans as he loaded it up with his purchases. Steve tripped over himself, and almost took Becky out in the process. Hargrove straightened up just as the group was jogging past, pushing his curls out of his face, and for one heavenly moment, Steve thought they were going to slip past him unnoticed. But since when did things ever pan out like he wanted them to.

“Morning ladies,” Hargrove called out across the lot, and because he was watching, Steve saw the moment his face flipped from a frown to that lazy half-smile.

“Shit,” Steve said under his breath. 

The others had already come to a stop, making the apparently unanimous decision to take five to chat to the bane of Steve’s existence. Billy had sauntered over, arms crossed over his chest so the thickness of his upper arms was even more glaringly obvious, dirty rag tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. Steve could smell him even, musky cologne and cut grass and a little sweaty from working, his white muscle tee damp with it.

“Not at the pool today sweetie?” Mrs Wheeler was saying as Steve drew closer, smiling at him warmly.

“No ma’am,” Hargrove said, “I’ve got the afternoon shift, so I’m over at Mrs Henderson’s this morning, putting up a new garden fence.”

Wait. He was doing Dustin’s mom’s yard now too? Steve unsuccessfully tried to stop himself from doing a double take. That meant he was doing the whole nerd squad’s yard work, apart from the Byers’. Which made sense; Mrs Wheeler was one of the first to take up Hargrove’s offer of work, of course she was going to recommend him to the others. Didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Oh I’m so glad she called you,” Mrs Wheeler patted his arm. “I mentioned how much help you’ve been to her at our book club last week.”

“It was very kind of you Mrs Wheeler, I really appreciate it,” he said, voice taking on the low, husky purr Steve knew full well he only pulled out when he either wanted in someone’s pants or was messing with Steve. “How are the roses looking, Mrs Faircastle? They doin’ okay?”

“Oh yes, positively flourishing,” she gushed, “thank you Billy.”

“And still not the prettiest thing in the garden, huh,” he winked at her. Steve rolled his eyes and looked at his watch.

“I just wanted to say thank you again for pruning my trees, Billy,” Ms Kramer cut in, “Felix hasn’t gotten stuck at all this week.”

“You’re very welcome,” Billy said. “Say hi to the little guy for me, will ya?”

“Of course!”

“Looking good, Harrington.”

“Huh?” Steve snapped out of his irritated clockwatching to see Billy looking him up and down, tongue hanging out like a goddamn dog. “Whatever, Hargrove.”

If Steve had bothered to pay proper attention while they were all saying their goodbyes, he might have realised they were all playfully brushing off Hargrove’s efforts at flirting. Efforts which, if looked at closely, were obviously not serious at all. A game, for both parties. But he was too busy being offended by his mere presence to notice. 

#

Once again, Steve had ignored his alarm and had had to skip breakfast to meet with the group on time. Which meant that by the time he got back home an hour later, pleasantly achy and dripping with sweat, he was really damn hungry. Too impatient to wait until he’d taken a shower, he grabbed a box of pop tarts from the kitchen and went out back to cool off. 

He was halfway through the second pop tart, sprawled across a pool chair with crumbs on his chest, when Billy Hargrove materialised from _nowhere_ and scared the shit out of him.

“I think that defeats the purpose, Harrington.”

Steve jumped and sat up, coughing on pastry crumbs, to see Hargrove smirking at him from amidst the dahlias. “What the _fuck?”_

“All that sugar?” he clicked his tongue and shook his head, cigarette tucked behind his ear and earth smeared up his forearms. “Hardly a balanced breakfast.”

“I – what do you even – “ Steve floundered for something to say that effectively summed up how fucking outrageous the whole thing was. “What the fuck are you doing at my house, man? _God.”_

“Your mom.”

_“What?”_

“Your mom hired me.”

“How the hell could she hire you? She’s in Montreal.” Or maybe Vancouver… she was in Canada, he knew that much.

Hargrove waved a hand, dismissive, “your mom’s maid hired me then, whatever.” He stood up to stretch, and Steve’s eye caught on the glittering purple of the gemstone around his neck, bright against the tan skin of his chest, the way his jeans sat low on his hips. Did he only pick jobs where going shirtless was an option, or…? “She goes to that same damn book club they’re all in. Mrs Wheeler recommended me.” 

“Of course she did,” Steve brushed the last of the crumbs off his shirt before Hargrove could notice and be a dick about it, feeling too hot all over again. He chalked it up to being _pounced_ on in his own back yard without warning. Asshole. 

“I like your shorts.”

“Huh?” Steve felt like he was constantly five steps behind Hargrove, waiting for him to stick out a leg and trip him up.

“Your shorts,” Hargrove nodded down to his completely average pair of yellow running shorts, “the colour looks good on you.” He smirked again, a slow smug curl of amusement. “Might wanna close your legs though sweetheart. Don’t go giving it away for free.” 

“Shit,” Steve scrambled to his feet to the sound of Hargrove’s cackling, and felt like a complete idiot for it two seconds later. Firstly, knowing Hargrove it was pretty likely he was just yanking his chain anyway, and secondly, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen a whole lot more in the school showers. Had it been anyone else, Steve probably wouldn’t have even bothered moving, maybe grinned and sprawled even more, just to make a point. But something about Hargrove just made him feel… off his game. Which should have been old fucking news by now, but he couldn’t help it. 

“Pretty boy you are just too much fun.” Hargrove was grinning at him, hair pushed back under his sunglasses, earring catching the sun and freckles across his nose. Steve didn’t want to look at him anymore.

“Whatever, man,” he turned to walk back to the house. “I’m going inside.” 

“Aw, so soon?”

“I have to go to work!” he called over his shoulder. In two hours, but Hargrove didn’t need to know that.

“Tell your shorts I miss ‘em already.”

#

That evening after work, Steve felt on edge and distracted and not a hundred percent sure why. He ate some pizza and watched a movie, moped around, the usual. In the end, he called up Dustin on the pretence of confirming he could give him a ride to the Sinclairs’ tomorrow, just to hear someone else’s voice. Dustin didn’t seem to sense anything was up though, and if he did he did a good job of hiding it as he chattered on about their plans for Will’s birthday next week. It wasn’t until Steve heard Dustin’s mom telling him to wind it up because it was bedtime that he got up the nerve to say something.

“Uh, Dustin?”

“Yeah Steve?”

“Max’s brother… he um, he’s been fixing up your mom’s yard, right?”

“Ugh, yes,” he could practically hear Dustin’s eye roll. “He stays for _hours_ and mom shows him all the photo albums of her old cats Steve, it’s terrible.”

“Right. So…” Steve hesitated as he rolled the words around in his head, wrapped his fingers around the phone cord, “he’s around all of you guys’ houses a lot now?”

“I guess? I mean yeah, he puts me way above my recommended daily dose of douchebag,” Dustin said. “Why?”

Shit. “I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t hassling you losers anymore. He uh, doesn’t have a great track record there, y’know?”

“Does he hassle – are you kidding me? Of course he does Steve, _oh my God.”_ Steve felt himself tense up. “But not in a scary way? Like he used to. Just a regular asshole way. The kind of embarrassing way that makes my mom laugh, _laugh,_ Steve, and join in. Traitor.”

He deflated a little, relieved about something he hadn’t even known he’d been worrying over. “…Okay.”

“You know before he started to work for Mrs Sinclair,” Dustin said, on a roll now, “he took Max and Lucas out for pizza at the arcade and asked him if he was cool with him working for his parents?”

“Uh, no. I didn’t.”

“Yeah. He said he was sorry and everything. It was a shitty apology, and I personally am convinced he has some kind of ulterior motives, but – “ he heard Dustin’s mom yelling in the background again. “Shit, I really gotta go.”

“Yeah. Thanks buddy.”

“No worries, my man.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“G’night Steve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve baby, open your eyes.  
> Also I think the Billy having a amethyst necklace thing was a headcanon of someone else’s (Flippyspoon’s maybe??) that I have wholeheartedly embraced. So thank you for that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments on the last part guys, ily.

“Erica’s taken such a shine to him,” Mrs Sinclair said as they ran past Melvald’s. Steve wasn’t sure if Mrs Byers was even working, but he threw a wave to the long row of windows along the front of the store just in case. “I’m wondering if Billy’d be offended if I asked him to watch her one evening. She’s chased off the last two sitters.” Now Steve would _pay_ to see that. “Helped her with her homework and everything.”

Honestly he couldn’t imagine Billy fucking Hargrove helping little kids with their homework, that was just too much.

“Handsome _and_ clever,” said Mrs Wheeler, and the rest of them laughed. 

“I noticed the poor boy had a bit of a black eye while he was seeing to my roses yesterday,” said Mrs Faircastle quietly, when the laughter had died away. Steve waited for the chorus of shocked surprise and exaggerated concern from the rest but it didn’t come. Just a low murmur of discontent. “I asked him if I could do anything, but he said no,” she sighed. “I gave him an extra ten dollars, not that it’ll help any.”

“I’ve made sure my first aid kit’s up to snuff,” Ms Kramer added with an understanding nod, “just in case.”

Steve wasn’t sure what to make of that. Before he could think of a way to edge into the conversation and find out some more, they were talking about something else. He felt a little thrown off course, even more than he normally did, out of a loop he hadn’t known existed.

“Buck up, Sam,” Melvin yelled as he ran past, making Steve just about jump out of his skin, “let’s see that smile.”

_Jesus Christ._

#

Billy was in his front yard when he got home, raking over the gentle slope of lawn that Steve didn’t really think needed raking – but then he knew crap all about gardening, so – headphones on and Walkman in his back pocket. His face was relaxed, soft even, dappled with shade from the trees along the drive as he mouthed along with the words. It was a look Steve wasn’t used to, on him. When he saw Steve coming though, he grinned and whipped off the headphones, sharpness back in place just like that. Steve almost smiled back.

“I think this might be my favourite look on you, Harrington.”

“Yeah?" Steve drawled, scratching his neck and already waiting for a punchline. "And what look's that?”

Billy looked him up and down. “Sweaty.”

“Oh my God,” Steve shook his head, sweat-damp hair in his eyes. “Do you not have other people’s lawns to fuck with, man? Jesus.”

“Not ‘til later.”

“Roses to plant?” he tried. “Cats to rescue? Married housewives to bat your eyelashes at?”

“Maybe,” Hargrove propped the rake up, popped his hip as he leaned against it. “But can I tell you a secret Harrington?”

“No.”

He ignored him. “You’re my favourite.”

“Lucky me,” he said flatly. 

He was close enough to get a look at Billy properly now, still stuck on what Mrs Faircastle had said earlier. Sure enough his eye looked a little yellowed, skin powdery like there was make up swiped hastily over it. There were bruises on his arms, too. The curiosity must have shown on his face, because when he glanced up again, Hargrove was looking at him funny, frowning and uncertain.

“What are you lookin’ at?” he said, gruff and drawing back into himself like a wary dog.

“Nothing,” Steve shook his head. “You uh, want a pop or something?”

“You sound just like Mrs Wheeler,” Hargrove visibly relaxed, sounded a little more like himself again. Or the Hargrove Steve had gotten used to lately, anyway. “You gonna bake me some cookies, too?”

“Oh my God.”

“Bet your lemonade’s not as sweet as hers.” And Steve wanted to be annoyed, really he did, but Billy was opening up to him again, a sunflower towards the light, and _he liked it._

“Just come inside, asshole.”

#

He hadn’t seen Billy for a few days. Not since he’d invited him inside for a drink, which had turned out to be basically just half an hour of Billy pawing through Steve’s parents’ possessions and making fun of him. And Steve had played along, thrown out his own half-assed jabs in return, but with none of the meanness they might have had a few months back. He wouldn’t have said it was nice exactly, but it wasn’t… _not nice,_ either. Steve’s eye had kept dropping to the purple stone swaying at his chest, to his nipples gone hard in the Harrington’s top notch AC. 

“…and Mr Hargrove always seems so polite,” Ms Kramer was saying, and Steve focused in at the mention of the name, “but there’s just something off about him, in my opinion.”

“Never liked the man,” said Mrs Sinclair, the most blunt Steve had ever heard her speak, “he’s got a mean eye.”

There was a mumble of assent among the ladies, and Steve found himself combing through the scant encounters he’d had with Billy’s dad. There hadn’t been many, just across the aisles the grocery store and the usual shit like that.

“When she joined the book club last month, I asked Susan if she might like to join the running group too,” Mrs Wheeler said, and holy crap Billy was right, they really were all in that damn book club, “but she seemed ever so reluctant.” She shook her head, “between you and me, I got the impression she thought Mr Hargrove wouldn’t approve.”

“Such a shame. She seems sweet, if a little shy,” Mrs Faircastle said.

“It’s the kids I worry about,” Mrs Sinclair said, still looking a little fierce, “I haven’t heard Max say anything directly, not enough to make any… accusations, but I know she doesn’t think much of him. And he seems awful hard on Billy.”

“It just makes me so darn mad that we can’t do anything more,” said Mrs Faircastle in an uncharacteristic fit of irritation.

“We’re here if he needs us,” Mrs Wheeler said firmly. “And we’ll just have to keep our ears to the ground ladies. We can’t interfere unless we have something concrete.” 

Their resolve made Steve feel guilty. He hadn’t known things were so… well, bad. Any fallout Billy had gotten, Steve had always assumed he'd deserved. But after hearing everything the ladies had to say about him, week after week, he was starting to doubt it.

#

“Thanks again for the pasta, Mrs Wheeler,” Billy beamed at her when the group just happened to run into him on their loop down main street. They were always ‘just running into him.’ Steve was starting to think he waited for them on purpose. “It was delicious, you’re a real good cook.”

“Nonsense sweetie, it was the least I could do,” Mrs Wheeler said when they stopped to say hello, “you were working on those bushes for hours, I couldn’t have you missing lunch.”

Billy shot Steve a look then, a funny little smile like they were sharing a joke, and ran his tongue over his teeth. Steve couldn’t figure out what the hell the joke was meant to be. “You’re too good to me, Mrs W.” He turned to Ms Kramer, “and how’s Felix doin’ today?”

“Oh, much better,” Ms Kramer clasped her hands together. “I can’t thank you enough for driving us to the vet, I was so worried about him.”

“He’s a brave little guy,” Billy all but purred. “He’s lucky to have a mom like you.”

Steve was one more gross comment away from saying fuck it and finishing the run on his own. He was so busy getting wound up over Hargrove’s boy next door act, that he barely noticed not one of the others seemed to be flustered by it at all. Only him.

Which wasn’t helped at all by the fact that Billy chose that moment to look over at him, all raised eyebrows and sharp smile, to say, “nice socks, Harrington.” 

Steve frowned down at his completely average running socks, mid-calf, white, with a little red stripe around the top. He was so damn baffled by it, that he didn’t answer, just lifted his hands in a half shrug that he hoped conveyed a solid ‘what the fuck?’

It bothered him how the ladies could all look so serenely calm when faced with Hargrove’s fucking with them, but it made Steve feel like he was about to boil right over. And all the while, Hargrove did nothing but stand there looking pleased with himself, like butter wouldn’t melt. Steve was starting to doubt there was anything he could do to wipe that look off his face.

#

Steve was late again. Late enough that he hadn’t even bothered showering, just thrown on his running gear and headed for the door. There’d be time to clean up when he got back. It was a shade cooler that morning too, grey and clouded over, a little misty at the edges. It would probably be sticky and humid as hell in a couple hours when the fog burned off. He wrenched open the front door ready to dash down the drive, only to find Hargrove blocking his way, up at the ass-crack of early for God knows what reason, and sitting on Steve’s front steps. The very first thing he noticed, before anything else, was that he wearing that pendant still, the heavy glint of purple at his chest brighter in the dull morning. He wondered if it would feel hot to the touch, if it would take on the warmth of his skin.

He blinked. Billy blinked back.

“Hi,” he said, let the door click shut behind him. His running shoes were still untied. “What uh, what are you doing here?” 

Billy didn’t answer, just looked at him, bright and gold in the dreary grey cloud over Hawkins.

Steve tried again. “Are you okay, man?”

Hargrove came back to himself them, grimaced and tossed his curls like an impatient horse. “Peaches and cream, Harrington.”

It was falsely sweet, sickly, like the way he spoke to Mrs Wheeler, and Steve was gripped by the need to get something fucking real out of him. “How’d you that black eye last week?” He blurted it out on impulse, regretted it the moment he heard it out loud. He sounded like Hargrove did when he was trying to get a rise out of him, intrusive, going out of his way to make things uncomfortable.

But instead of getting angry, Hargrove continued to stare off down the drive. “Eh, I deserved it.”

And Steve wanted to argue against that because he was pretty fucking sure he didn’t, nobody did, and even though Billy was giving off vibes that clearly said it was maybe a talk for another day, he couldn’t help but push and say, “no you didn’t.”

Billy only huffed a laugh, looked at the porch steps under his boots and said tightly, “if you say so, Harrington.” Another day, then. 

Hargrove seemed sharp, ready to prod at him, and not in the lazy, playful way Steve had gotten used to lately, but prickly and snappish like a cornered cat, and he was thrown for a fucking loop. “You’re uh, gonna be late for flirting with the ladies if you don’t hurry,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

If anything it just made Billy worse. He stood up abruptly, hands balled up by his sides, snarling and glaring, eyes bright with anger. The smug look he’d wanted to wipe of Hargrove’s face a few days ago was definitely gone now. _Well fuckin' done, Steve._ “What flirting, Harrington?” he said, somehow in his space despite the gap he was carefully maintaining between them.

“What do you mean, 'what flirting?'” Steve said, suddenly a little mad himself, after the weeks of feeling confused, played with. “You’re practically in their laps any chance you get Billy, God!”

“It’s not real, Harrington, _Christ,”_ Billy ground out, pacing the porch. “It’s all a dumb joke! I say nice shit to them, it makes them smile. They know I’m not going to follow through, hell, we all know they don’t really want me to, and it’s not even _for_ them, and I…” he shook his head and looked up at Steve again, a little sad, a little desperate. “God Steve, are you really that dumb?”

Steve swallowed, feeling a little dizzy, before managing to say, quietly, “then who’s it for?”

He was still staring at him, the sad, angry Billy that Steve hadn’t seen since November, unless you counted the second-long flashes he quickly smoothed over. “You, you asshole.”

Which yeah okay, Steve actually was not that dumb despite what people might say, and the past few weeks had been wondering if maybe, just maybe… But he hadn’t let himself give it any thought outright. Still didn’t, even when Billy was blinking up at him, scowling and upset, just closed that gap Billy had set up between them, and kissed him.  
It wasn’t the best kiss; Steve went in too hard and too quick, afraid that Billy might leap out of his grasp at the last second, and Billy too surprised to react, mouth slack and unmoving. But then Steve eased away a little, backed off just enough that Billy had to push forward to chase him, and then it felt like the best kiss of his life, messy and heartfelt, despite his suspicion that neither of them had bothered brushing their teeth that morning.

Billy looked kinda dazed when they broke apart, breathing quick and eyes blown big, hair a mess. Steve suspected he looked about the same.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna skip the run today,” he said.

“Good,” Billy said, voice all low and gravelly, and it suddenly hit him that there might've been a reason Billy’s 'getting in someone’s pants voice' and his 'fucking with Steve' voice were the same. _Well shit._ “That means I don’t have to waste time hangin’ around in town waiting on you.”

“I knew you were running into us on purpose!” Steve poked him the chest, outraged and delighted. “Dick.”

“Just you, pretty boy,” Billy said, smiling a little, close enough for Steve to count the sun freckles across his nose.

“Yeah?”

“Mm. I like the girls just fine,” he said gruffly, face pinked up a bit, “appreciate the hell out of ‘em, although I’ll fuckin’ kill you if you tell anyone that.”

“Sure you will, tiger,” Steve grinned at him.

Billy elbowed him in the ribs. “But it was you I was waiting for, dumbass.”

Steve was a second away from flinging himself at Billy and kissing him stupid again, but there was still a kind of bumbling newness to the whole thing that made him second guess if Billy would appreciate that or not. Steve had caught him off guard with the kiss a moment ago, but the Harrington’s front drive wasn’t as well hidden as all that. The group would be running past any moment to meet him, and he doubted any of them really wanted to see him stick his tongue down Billy’s throat. But he didn’t want to take him inside either, felt all het-up and restless and excited, needed to be doing something, so said the first thing that came to mind.

“Hey, you wanna go for a drive?”

Billy tilted his head, looked him over with a lazy, happy smile, and Steve knew he’d said the right thing. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the tone of this whole thing is kinda wonky cos it couldn’t decide if it wanted to be funny or sad, but this is what’s happened.  
> Tbh I know I don’t spend enough time on Billy’s homelife after the setup I gave it; if there was going to be a chapter three that is probs what it would be about, but I can’t promise I’ll ever get there – for now, this fic is done.
> 
> ROLL ON S3 YESSS


End file.
